


Inherit the Stars

by Sefiru



Series: Hidden Sky [10]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Box Animals, Clouds being Cloudy, Crossdressing, F/M, Family, Grief, Haru being Haru, Hayato plays piano, History, Humor, Inheritance Ball, Iron fort, Italian Mafia, Loyalty, M/M, Mafia style negotiations, Misuse of the konmari method, Multi, Natural killer Takeshi, Picnic, Poker, Posthumous Character, Sawada Iemitsu's A+ Parenting, Sicily - Freeform, Skies are royalty, Spies, Sub!Hayato, Traditions, Vongola-style trolling, beach, boss!Tsuna, casual discussion of murder, clams, ghost Enrico, sub!Xanxus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:02:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27424657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sefiru/pseuds/Sefiru
Summary: Tsuna and his Guardians arrive in Sicily to take their place in history. And there is a lot of history, in the land and in the Family. How will the tenth generation of the Vongola make their mark?
Relationships: Basil/Kyoko, Gokudera Hayato/Sawada Tsunayoshi, Referenced Xanxus/Levi, Sawada Tsunayoshi/Chrome, Sawada Tsunayoshi/Xanxus, Xanxus/Hana
Series: Hidden Sky [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1059935
Comments: 396
Kudos: 975





	1. Chapter 1

On the rocky south coast of Sicily, near the city of Agrigento, stood a sprawling manor. Its oldest section was nearly three hundred years old, build of local stone in the Baroque style, decorated with shell motifs and wrought iron grates that gave the place its name.

Tsuna couldn’t help gawking from the window of the limousine. _He_ was going to own _that_. What on Earth had he gotten himself into? The manor was surrounded by outbuildings, orchards and gardens; the limo had passed through the perimeter gate several minutes ago. He could already sense the dozens of people who lived here.

Hayato squeezed his hand. Right; for the kids like Lambo, I-pin and Fuuta, and for all those who were _his people_ , whether they knew it yet or not. He straightened the cuffs of his suit jacket as the limo rolled to a stop. “Let’s do this.”

The occasion called for full Mafia etiquette. Hayato and Takeshi exited first and scanned the area; then Tsuna, with the four girls behind him, and Reborn on Hana’s shoulder, much to her annoyance. Daemon padded at their feet, pretending to be a normal cat.

There were two men waiting on the imposing front steps. Tsuna recognised one of them as Timoteo’s Right Hand, Visconti. “Welcome, Decimo.” He studied them with narrowed eyes. “Know this; you may have won the rings, but you have yet to prove yourselves to be men of honor.” Hana cleared her throat loudly; Visconti ignored her. “This is Giovanni Fiorino, the head of household staff. Direct any questions about the facilities to him.”

Fiorino bowed over Tsuna’s hand. “It’s an honor to meet you at last, Decimo. I hope that you will feel at home here.” 

So did Tsuna, since he was going to be living there. “With your assistance I’m sure we will, Signore Fiorino. I look forward to working with you.”

Visconti continued, “Don Timoteo invites you to join him for refreshments once you are settled. Brow Nie will guide you.” He stalked off, leaving Tsuna and his Elements to follow Fiorino through the doors.

“Why are they all named after pastries, though?” grumbled Hana. 

“I like how random it is,” said Kyoko. “No hints about Flame type, skills or even gender.” They passed through a grand lobby and up a staircase, down a corridor lined with portraits and up another flight of stairs. Now they were in an area that looked like it was for living in, not showing off.

“This floor contains two Sky suites,” explained Fiorino. “The one on the other side is Nono’s, and this one will be yours. Your keys.” He gestured, and a maid stepped forward with a tray. Tsuna hoped she hadn’t been waiting too long. He picked up a key with an orange ribbon attached and slid it into the lock.

*** 

Hayato was relieved to see that the Sky apartment was _ordinary_ , if large; he was having flashbacks to his father’s mansion after that opulent entry. Out of habit all of Tsuna-sama’s party took off their shoes; Fiorino whipped out a notepad and jotted down a note. Hayato leaned over and read, _shoe rack_. Above that was another note, _cat tray/litter._ Hayato approved.

The suite consisted of seven bedrooms clustered around a sitting area. The décor was plain – no, _bare_. Waiting for Tsuna-sama and his family to move in. It was only just sinking in that Hayato was going to live in Vongola headquarters. As Don Vongola’s Right Hand. _Him._

Tsuna-sama grasped his hand. “Let’s take a look around, ne?” He unfurled his Flame; Fiorino’s breath caught. “This middle one is supposed to be the Sky’s room, right, Signore Fiorino?”

“Y-yes, Decimo. And please, just Fiorino is fine; I am your subordinate.”

Tsuna-sama scratched his neck. “Well, I was raised to respect my elders. And the people in charge of my hot water. I’ll try, but I’m not used to having household staff at all.” Neither was Hayato, really; his father’s manor had been a long time ago and he’d been a little kid.

“We’ll figure it out, Juudaime.” Along with how to fit fourteen Guardians into six rooms. Come to think of it, “Fiorino, did anyone warn you how many Guardians Juudaime has?”

“Nono did mention something, though I’m uncertain what he meant.” Fiorino seemed to have regained his composure. “You appear to have the usual number.”

“Yeah, about that.” Hayato passed him the information packet they had put together, with the diagram and list of Tsuna-sama’s Elements on the first page. Fiorino’s eyes bulged, and then he sighed. 

“Vongola; I should have known.”

“Give the man some space,” said Tsuna-sama. “Has anyone decided on a room yet?”

Takeshi claimed the room closest to the entrance – _subtle,_ baseball idiot – and they all agreed to leave Hibari the one on the outside corner. Haru and Chrome were going to share one of the rooms next to Tsuna-sama, and Hayato took the other. Kyoko and Hana took the other corner room.

“Matteo-sensei, would you like to keep on sharing a room with me?”

“It would be my pleasure, Fluffy-Tsuna.” That left one room open for the moment. Tsuna-sama said, 

“I know some of you are going to mainly live elsewhere, but they should still have a space here … Fiorino, are you all right?”

The head of staff was studying the list of Elements with a plaintive expression. “Daemon Spade? Really?”

“Yes, really.” Daemon jumped onto a chair back to look Fiorino in the eye. “I have advised the little Sky that you are both competent and trustworthy. Kindly do not make a liar of me.”

Fiorino looked affronted; Tsuna-sama scratched the cat’s ears. “Don’t be mean, D-san.”

*** 

Work in the kitchens ground to a halt when the limo driver came into the staff cafeteria; Enzo Carelli, along with the other sous-chefs, put down his tools to eavesdrop. The driver took a cup of coffee and flopped onto a bench, rubbing his forehead. 

“Well?” asked one of the maids, after a long pause.

“Santa Maria, they’re going to eat him alive.” Noticing the quiet around him, he continued, “He’s a cute fluffy kid. He arrived with his Guardians, his tutor and his pet cat. And four of his Guardians are _girls._ ” There were stifled sounds of dismay. Most of the lower staff were latent Flames – including Carelli – or Flameless altogether. They depended on the Don’s strength for their own safety.

“Wait, I heard his Guardians were four boys and two girls.”

“Eh, could have been misinformation.” Like any Mafia Famiglia, the Vongola operated on secrecy. Carelli himself had secrets he would never tell. He wasn’t sure if he hoped or feared that was going on here. The driver also realised he was on the verge of saying too much, and sipped the rest of his coffee in silence; the head cook clapped her hands.

“Back to work, you lazy dogs! Carelli, have you got those canapés ready?”

“Yes, Signora!”

*** 

Kyoya glared at his phone, waiting for it to chime. He didn’t like it. He would wait for no one but the small omnivore; nor would he leave his territory. Now he was doing both. With the omnivore taking over a new den, Kyoya needed to make sure it was a suitable habitat. And ensure that the herbivores there knew their place.

“Kufufufu. Staring at it won’t make it ring faster.”

“Ring! Ring!” said Hibird.

“Hn.” The pineapple _never_ knew his place. Kyoya would put up with him to reach the small omnivore faster, and then he would bite him to death. Finally, the phone announced that the small omnivore was ready for them. A swirl of Mist Flames carried them both, and all of their nesting materials, far out of Namimori. 

They landed amid the small omnivore’s pack. There was an unknown herbivore, who paled and took a step back. “Three Clouds on the premises, God have mercy.”

“Kyoya-nii, Mukuro-nii.” The small misty animal embraced them both. Kyoya gave the pineapple a warning look; he should not think this put him on the same level as a carnivore. The pineapple smirked in return.

“Hn.” Kyoya patted the small animal’s head, then greeted the omnivore the same way. His time crowding on the beach had been good for him. Ignoring the herbivores’ chatter, Kyoya inspected the rest of the den. The best room had been left open for him. His handsome carnivore was here too. “Herbivore, you will instruct the kitchen to make hamburger steak.” If they could do so properly, he would consider expanding his territory.

*** 

Reborn was looking forward to the first meeting between his old friend and his fluffy student. Timoteo didn’t know yet that his fate was sealed. Brow Nie was already gaping; he had arrived to lead them downstairs, and spotted Reborn wearing the same Ring that had once graced his own finger. The older Guardians of the Ninth generation must not have told him about Reborn’s other name.

“Ne, Matteo-sensei,” said Haru. “Did you ever see these rooms before?”

“Not at all.” This wing was for family only; no matter how trusted, he had been an outsider. “It’s surprisingly cozy.” Hana stayed behind to decompress, and nine Guardians were at Tsuna’s back when he stepped into Timoteo’s private lounge. 

“Don Timoteo, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Indeed, it’s wonderful to see you again, Tsunayshi.” They shook hands, kissed cheeks; the massive grievances between them were no reason to be rude. Reborn’s eyes twinkled. The two sets of Guardians fanned out around their Skies. Visconti did a double take at the new additions; Bouche Croquant frowned. And all of them were blindsided by Tsuna’s casual introduction of his extra Elements. Timoteo recovered smoothly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. Tsunayoshi, may I suggest we leave business for tomorrow and take today to get to know each other?”

“Of course! And please, call me Tsuna.” Fluffy-Tsuna smiled his bright, innocent smile, and Timoteo flinched minutely. Amusement bubbled in Reborn’s stomach; the old Don deserved every moment of guilt, and that was only the beginning.

“Coffee?”

“Thank you.” Tsuna accepted a cup, and blinked at it. “Why do your cups have Donald Duck on them?

“Why, Donald Duck is one of the classics! Reborn, what have you been teaching him?”

“Literature is not my field,” Reborn chirped, and took a cup of coffee for himself.

*** 

Timoteo stopped himself from shaking his head. He knew Reborn could be a harsh trainer, but depriving his students of Donald Duck? That was just cruel. “The library here has every volume. I’m sure you’ll find them entertaining.”

“Thank you, I’ll have to take a look.” If Timoteo didn’t know better, he could believe that Tsuna liked him. He could almost believe that this boy, with his gentle smile and tuft of fluffy hair, was as naïve as he looked. But holding back the fact of his extra Guardians until the right moment? That was deft. “How is your first impression of Sicily?”

“It’s very different from Namimori. It looks like you have dry summers here?”

“We do, particularly when the Sirocco is blowing.” Tsuna’s Flame was as pure and steady as a kerosene lamp; Timoteo could almost hear its hiss. He settled back in his chair. His Flame and Tsuna’s did not have the same easy resonance he had had with his sons, yet neither was it the scorching clash of an enemy. Whatever transpired in the coming days, there was an understanding between them. “I have lived here all my life; I hope that you will come to be as fond of this land as I am.”

“So do I.” Tsuna sipped from his cup, looking around the room. “I can already tell that the Iron Fort has … character.”

Timoteo had to chuckle at that. “It’s an old pile and its layout makes no sense.” Coyote stifled a snort; Timoteo was all but quoting him. His coffee cup was almost empty, and Coyote picked up the pot to refill it.

His own were … unsettled, meeting their replacements for the first time and good God, they were just _kids_. The two sets of Elements eyed each other – in the case of Hibari and Visconti, from opposite corners of the room. In a courteous touch, none of the younger generation were wearing the Vongola Rings. Except Reborn, of course; one could hardly expect him to refrain from rubbing his assets in people’s faces.

“Fluffy-Tsuna, it’s an art of war thing,” the tutor said. “Confuse your allies to confuse your enemies.”

“The architect was the confused one,” Tsuna retorted.

“Are you sure, Fluffy-Tsuna?” Reborn had changed since finding his Sky, and not just by growing from two years old to four. He never would have mentioned his scholarly credentials, let alone make a joke about them. He was relaxed, and Timoteo hadn’t seen that in half a century.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you a tour. Everyone gets turned around, even those of us who grew up here,” he assured Tsuna.

“Isn’t that what you told Daniella when she caught you in the wine cellar?” said Reborn. On second thought, he hadn’t changed at all.

*** 

Tsuna anticipated that the promised tour would involve a lot of walking, so he dressed casually the next morning, in jeans and the Hanshin Tigers hoodie which Haru had made for him what felt like a lifetime ago. When Timoteo met them in the foyer, he seemed to have the same idea; he was in a checked shirt and khakis. He had Coyote and Ganauche with him, while Tsuna had all of his Elements.

“Thank you for showing us around.” Tsuna threw a sidelong glance at Reborn and Daemon, who were each smirking at him in their own ways. “Though I’m worried that I’m about to run into another crazy Vongola tradition.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean,” Daemon said blandly.

Timoteo answered, “There is a tradition – ” _I knew it._ “But I don’t think you’ll find it outrageous. Each heir to the family adds an improvement to the manor; perhaps the tour will give you some ideas.”

That didn’t sound too bad. “What was your project, sir?” asked Kyoko.

“I had a tennis court put in; Enrico installed a modern sound system … let’s begin in the ballroom.”

The building’s sections made more sense once Tsuna saw what order they had been built in. The original eighteenth-century manor now housed the ballroom, banquet hall, and other event spaces; the second stage of construction contained the Don’s office, the library and infirmary. The family wing had been built in the prosperous (for the Mafia) eighteen-seventies. There was a guest wing, sports facilities, staff quarters and workshops, all connected by a warren of cellars and service corridors. “And this,” said Timoteo as he stopped in front of a set of double doors, “is the most important place in the house: the kitchen.”

“Word to the wise, don’t annoy the cooks,” added Ganauche.

“Indeed. So I don’t intend to interrupt – ”

The doors opened. “Don Timoteo! Don’t tell me you’re going to skip introducing us to the young master.” The speaker was an apron-wrapped woman, her hands planted on her hips. Timoteo smiled.

“Well, then. Tsuna, meet our head cook, Elizabeta Boccia. Elizabeta, your Decimo, Tsunayoshi Sawada.” She curtsied. Inside the kitchen, the staff all stood at attention at their workstations while their Boss walked through. Tsuna saw what Timoteo meant about interrupting; most of the stations had work in progress on them. He hoped he was making a good first impression.

“So busy …”

“This side of the kitchen prepares meals for the family and guests; the other side cooks for all the staff,” Timoteo explained. Tsuna would be fine eating the same food as the staff, but he could just imagine the scandalized looks if he said so. “Let Elisabeta know if you have any preferred snack foods, she’ll have some delivered.”

“Thank God for online shopping,” added Coyote. “Used to be we’d have to go in to Agrigento whenever we wanted something.”

“Ahaha, sounds like you need a convenience store here,” said Takeshi.

Tsuna tilted his head thoughtfully. “An improvement to the manor, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> European aristocrat: my mansion has all the amenities!  
> Japanese teens: what, no combini?
> 
> This installment of Hidden Sky is brought to you by Google maps: it's cheaper than airfare. (Anyone reading this from Sicily, feel free to point and laugh.) Welcome back to all my readers and commenters, and I hope you enjoy the next steps of Tsuna's journey.


	2. Chapter 2

The last time Xanxus set foot in the Iron Fort, it was to put the smackdown on his old man and take over the Vongola. Now … the same, only Tsuna was taking point and he wouldn’t be fucking Stupid about it. Xanxus still had a family key, but for _this_ , he was going in through the front door. In full Varia uniform, with Squalo flanking him – they both grinned as they crossed the threshold. Tsuna’s Flame was laced through the building already. And there _he_ was, coming down the grand staircase with his Right and Left Hands in tow. “Xanxus, Squalo, you’re right on time.”

“No fucking way I would miss this, Aniki.” He’d been waiting for this moment since he got out of the ice. “The jackass already here?”

Tsuna nodded. “He brought Lal with him.”

The old men were fucking outnumbered. Xanxus and his Sky walked side by side into the Don’s office, with their Guardians at their backs.

Timoteo stood up to greet them – he was going for gracious host, good; Iemitsu had a dopey fucking grin on his face.

“Ah, my little Tsuna-fishie! … What are you doing here?” he yelled at Xanxus.

“I told you this was an all-Sky meeting,” said Timoteo. He was wearing the indulgent smile that meant, _please continue to make a fool of yourself for my amusement._ “Xanxus, welcome.”

“Old man.” And fuck, he _looked_ old; the last decade had not been kind to him. Coyote and Visconti were just as worn. If he had any sense, he wouldn’t try to put up a fight.

Xanxus sat down facing the jackass, which left Tsuna facing the old man. There were only four chairs; their Elements found places to lean or perch, since they were there to be seen and not fucking heard. Drinks got poured – three coffees and one whiskey on the rocks. Timoteo began, “The purpose of this meeting is to discuss the transition between the ninth and tenth generation leadership, as well as redress of grievances.”

Tsuna nodded. “I know you’re going to publicly introduce me as your heir next week, but we need to work out what will actually happen.”

Iemitsu just had to open his fucking mouth. “Of course, I’ll stay on as external advisor. It’s only natural for a son to seek advice from his father – ”

Tsuna pinned him with a flat glare. “Sawada-san.” _Ouch_ , verbal fucking Zero-point. “I can’t trust you to be honest with me. In fact, I can’t trust you to communicate with me _at all._ ”

*** 

Tsuna sighed at Iemitsu’s spluttering. His ‘father’ could wait; he had more important matters to deal with in this meeting. The Sky Ring pulsed on his finger. “Shall we start with the current state of the Vongola?” he said. “There was a brief time when the Vonglola had eight Skies, out of a world population of eighty-seven. Now that number has been cut in half, and two of us were incapacitated for some time.” Daniella had died of old age, but the rest was on Timoteo’s hands; the Vongola couldn’t afford to have him in charge much longer.

Timoteo knew it too. “I am aware that my actions towards both of you are grounds for retribution, and I am prepared to accept it.”

“Shut the fuck up,” said Xanxus. Timoteo had written in his letters that he had expected Xanxus to kill him in revenge. It was silly; they could resolve this without anyone dying. Tsuna shook his head in agreement.

“You kept us both alive, even when by some standards, you shouldn’t have. That counts for something.”

“I prefer to hedge my bets when possible,” said Timoteo. “Besides, that would have alienated my External Advisor.” Whatever that was worth. 

“Anyway, you didn’t kill us then, so I won’t kill you now.” Tsuna’s smile turned wry. “Your reputation is going to die a hero’s death, though.”

Timoteo’s eyebrows lifted as he began to piece together Tsuna’s intentions. “Ah. I take it I should plan for a secluded retirement?”

“It won’t be too onerous, I promise. The Vongola own all kinds of properties around the world; one of them is sure to suit you.”

Timoteo’s posture relaxed, and so did his Guardians’. “That is generous of you. My thanks.”

“I may not personally _like_ what you did, but I can at least understand you reasons.” Tsuna took a deep breath. “What I don’t understand are your motives, Sawada-san. Why did you ask Nono to seal my Flames?”

*** 

Timoteo shifted forward intently. He wanted to hear Iemitsu’s explanation himself; he hadn’t questioned the request at the time, since it was a golden opportunity to neutralise a rival to his remaining sons. In hindsight, however, the request made no sense.

Iemitsu answered with his usual careless grin. “I wanted my Tsuna-fishie to live a civilian life, so you wouldn’t need your Flames anyway.”

“Wouldn’t _need?_ ” Tsuna exclaimed. “This is my soul you’re talking about!”

Iemitsu laced his fingers behind his head. “Aw come on, you don’t seriously believe that. Any rational person knows that Flames are just a tool; all that talk about souls is pure superstition.”

The other three Skies stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Xanxus was the first to find his voice. “I knew you were fucked up in the head, trash, but Jesus fuck.”

“Language, Xanxus.” Timoteo pinched his nose; did he have to be _that_ crude? “Nevertheless, I agree with the sentiment. This blatant dismissal of the very basis of our society is disturbing.”

“Yet it explains so much,” muttered Lal.

“I’m sure my innocent Tsuna-fishie understands, right?”

Tsuna gave his father an unimpressed look. “I haven’t been your ‘Tsuna-fishie’ since I was five years old. And I haven’t been innocent since a teacher told me I was useless to my face.”

Timoteo tried not to cringe; Iemitsu scoffed. “They’re civilians, what could they possibly do – ”

Tsuna’s Left Hand shifted his stance, catching everyone’s attention. “Which way do you want him sliced, Tsuna?”

Iemitsu grinned at him. “You wouldn’t try to kill your Sky’s father, now would you?”

“If Tsuna asked it, I’d kill my own father,” Yamamoto answered cheerfully. Tsuna smiled up at him.

“I wouldn’t do that, Takeshi; I like your father.”

They were serious. And behind Yamamoto’s easy smile was the cold dark edge of a natural killer. “Where do you find these people?” Timoteo mused.

“Who, Takeshi? I’ve gone to school with him for ages.” Tsuna scratched his neck. “Where were we?”

“The seal, I believe.” Timoteo gazed into his coffee cup. “Can the matter be kept quiet?”

“Even if we could, the risk of someone finding out would always hang over our heads.” Tsuna smiled ever so sweetly. “Besides, too many people already know.”

“I see.” A fine piece of blackmail, both emotional and traditional. The Vongola’s position at the top of the Mafia was already precarious. Having his misdeeds brought into the open could crumble them entirely … To give himself time to think, Timoteo asked, “Who exactly knows of this?”

“There’s my Guardians, of course; several people in Namimori, all the Arcobaleno, Xanxus and his Guardians, and the Yunque clan heads.”

Tsuna was, of course, not only the Vongola heir but a Boss in his own right. For the harm done to their Sky, the Yunque would have ample reason to wage war on the Vongola. Unless. 

Unless the Vongola could show that justice had already been done. Unless they could pay sufficient restitution to the injured party. Unless they had a scapegoat.

A hero’s death, indeed. His reputation was a small price to pay for his life, the lives of his Elements, and the survival of the Vongola as a whole. “In that case, I believe that there is only one course of action open to me. Tsunayoshi, could you please stand?”

Tsuna did so; Timoteo rose from his seat and then with some difficulty from creaky joints, sank to one knee in front of him. “In redress of wrongs committed, I, Timoteo Vongola, unconditionally surrender the Vongola Famiglia into the hands of Yin Tian.” And he kissed Tsuna’s ring.

*** 

Xanxus could barely believe he was watching this. He could barely fucking _breathe_ ; he knew Tsuna was planning to demand the title of Don, but the old man took it a fucking step further. The Flames in the room shifted. Tsuna’s breath caught, and he whispered, “You’re mine now, and it’s going to be okay.” Who the fuck else could say _that_ and fucking mean it?

Tsuna hadn’t raised a hand, hadn’t raised his fucking voice, the old man had just fucking folded and fuck, Xanxus wanted to be the one on his knees right now, when was it _his_ fucking turn?

“Hold that thought,” Tsuna told him.

Timoteo sat down again, then turned to Xanxus and said in an instructive tone, “And that, young man, is how you pull off a coup.”

Xanxus cracked the fuck up. “Fuck off, Papa.” 

Meanwhile Iemitsu was spluttering incoherently. “How – Yin Tian – but – what?”

Tsuna returned to his seat and said pleasantly, “First order of business: Sawada-san, you’re on probation. You have until I graduate from high school to prove you’re an asset to the Famiglia rather than a liability.”

The jackass wasn’t going to last a fucking year. The old man asked, “So you still intend to finish high school?”

“Yes – I’d like to keep a low profile about all this, so I want you to act as my proxy until then.” Now that was rubbing salt in the fucking wound. Xanxus guessed that they would tell the outside trash what they expected: that Tsuna was confirmed as heir. The more secret they kept the true story, the more credible it would be, because that was fucking Mafia logic. “Not many people besides us and our Guardians need to know right away.”

“Fiorino, at least, should be informed,” said the old man. Because they all knew who really fucking ran the Iron Fort. “Other than that – ”

Black Flame. Cold. The Boss Vindice suddenly appeared, perched on the old man’s desk – right next to Visconti, who hissed at him. Tsuna pinched his nose. “Bermuda-san, I wondered if you would show up. Is that popcorn?”

Bermuda brushed white crumbs off his shroud. **“I am here to witness that you have upheld your side of our agreement. Timoteo Vongola, your violation of the Law has been handled internally. The Vindice will take no further action.”**

The old man blanched, like he was just fucking realising how much shit he was in. Bermuda poofed away again; after a moment, Tsuna held out a hand, and Hayato laid a notebook in it. “Now. Let’s talk details.”

*** 

Hayato was thankful it wasn’t his place to speak during the meeting; he could barely string a coherent thought together. He barely dared to _move,_ even when Daemon sat on his foot. Four of the most powerful Skies in the world in the same room, and Tsuna-sama had dominated all of them.

The meeting concluded; Iemitsu fled, no surprise there. Tsuna-sama gave Xanxus a hug. “I’ll drop by your place tomorrow, Ok?”

He was still reeling while Tsuna-sama and Nono explained the situation to Fiorino. To his credit, the chief of staff hardly blinked before kissing Tsuna-sama’s ring. “Understood, Don. Do you have any immediate orders?”

“Not yet. The ball to introduce me as heir is going ahead without changes, so you don’t need to worry about that.” Tsuna-sama reached for Hayato’s wrist. “Oh, does this place have a music room?”

“It does,” both Fiorino and Daemon answered. Fiorino gave the cat a suspicious look; Daemon washed his paw. “ … It’s on the second floor of the family wing, directly under your rooms,” Fiorino said. “Shall I have some refreshments delivered there?”

“That would be great, thank you.”

The music room was airy, with high ceilings and huge windows; in one corner stood a gleaming black grand piano. While he ran a scale to check if the piano was in tune – it was – his Sky curled up on a window seat. “Play something for me, Hayato.” That, he could do. The first tune that came to mind was the Final Fantasy victory fanfare; Tsuna-sama dissolved into slightly hysterical giggles. Hayato moved on to a calming Mozart piece while the rest of Tsuna-sama’s Elements, who had been watching the meeting by Mukuro-vision, flocked into the room. For the first time since leaving Japan, Tsuna-sama relaxed his grip on his Flame to the level he used at home.

“So it’s done, Fluffy-Tsuna,” said Reborn.

“Mm-hmm. Now I want to go hide under my bed for a while.”

Some things never changed. “At least hide _in_ the bed, Cielo mio,” said Hayato. “I’m sure it’s more comfortable.”

“Maybe I’ll hide in _your_ bed then, Hayato.” Naturally, his bed was at his Sky’s disposal whenever he chose.

Haru wormed her way onto the window seat beside Tsuna-sama and hugged him. “Dibs on tomorrow night, Boss!”

“Hiee? Don’t I get a say in this?”

“Nope!”

“As your Right Hand, please leave your schedule to me,” added Hayato.

Meanwhile, Daemon padded across the room to a glass-fronted, climate-controlled cabinet. Inside hung a quartet of stringed instruments. “Do you play, D-san?” asked Chrome.

“I was a fair hand at the violin, once.” Daemon sat and studied the instruments. “Not these; the Quarto commissioned them as his heir project. I need to improve my shapeshifting.”

*** 

That could have gone much worse, Timoteo thought while he shuffled a deck of cards. His Guardians, rattled by the sudden appearance of a Vindice in his office, had hustled him straight back to their private suite, where they filled the others in.

“Are you sure you’re all right with this, Timo?” asked Brow Nie.

“You know the saying; if we want things to stay the same, things will have to change. I believe this is truly the best course for the Famiglia.” Timoteo shrugged. “We already intended to retire. Events will proceed much as we expected; the only new wrinkle is where we’ll retire to.”

“There’s that ski chalet in Val Gardena,” suggested Schnitten. “Tourist town with all the amenities; plus, Vito likes it.”

Visconti grunted agreement without looking up from his newspaper.

“You going to deal those cards?” asked Bouche Croquant.

“If you all will ge the bowls.” A few hands before dinner would help them all unwind. His Elements each took a Donald Duck bowl and set out their stakes. Ganauche grumbled,

“Did you have to bring those salted liquorice things, Seppi? Nobody likes them but you.” 

“It’s my winning strategy,” Schnitten said blandly. It was an old, comfortable argument. Coyote set the Scrooge McDuck plate in the middle of the table as the pot, then a bowl of spiced almonds for Timoteo and candied ginger for himself.

“I wonder if the kids ever play?”

“Tsuna mentioned it in one of his letters. I don’t know their rules, though.” He began to deal the hands. “Every generation comes up with their own version, it seems.”

Visconti set his paper down and leaned over Brow Nie’s shoulder to snag some wine gums. Brow Nie moved his bowl away. “Would someone ante up already?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently in Italian, religious swears in the pattern of 'Jesus fuck' are suuuper offensive. Like, less 'bleeped on TV' and more 'fired from the show.' 
> 
> If you've been around the Internet long enough, you've probably seen a few rationalista douchebros like Iemitsu is here.


	3. Chapter 3

Reborn’s morning began, as usual, with a cup of coffee and an intelligence report. “So you can see, Fluffy-Tsuna, we were able to confirm that these are all the spies in the Iron Fort.”

Tsuna skimmed the list. “The Ninth Generation has really fallen behind on their housekeeping.”

“You can’t expect men to do a woman’s job,” Kyoko said lightly. There were seven names on the list – seven too many for Reborn’s peace of mind.

“Four cases of blackmail, two bribed, and this one.” He passed Tsuna the file to look over.

“…I have an idea, but I’ll need to talk to Xanxus. Is any of the blackmail material stuff that would bother me?”

“Not especially.” Reborn’s phone chimed; it was a message from Lal. [Heads up, Iemitsu is on his way over there to ‘see what exactly Reborn is teaching his little boy.’] he showed his students the message. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Tsuna giggled. “You pick the music, I’ll go get changed?”

Reborn tipped his hat. “I’ll meet you in the music room.”

*** 

“I knew I packed this for a reason.” Tsuna swished the skirt of his sundress. Haru had made it for him, of course; it was all in shades of orange and just a little frilly.

“Truly a manly costume, Juudaime.” Hayato offered his arm, and they set off for the music room together. On the stairs they crossed paths with Visconti, who stopped and glared at them.

“Decimo, what are you doing?”

“Pranking my father.”

“Ah. Carry on.” The Cloud gave them a sharp nod and continued on his way. Hayato’s straight face was already slipping.

In the music room, Reborn had set up the Leon-stereo. After a quick discussion, Hayato took charge of the camera while Kyoko kept lookout. Reborn switched to his adult form and offered Tsuna his hand; Leon started the music as soon as they stepped onto the dance floor. Tsuna had to smile at the choice of song.

_“I used to think, baby, you loved me, now I know that it’s true …”_

Between the harmony factor and a Sun’s sense of movement, dancing with Reborn was _amazing._ Normally the tutor wore layers of snark and machismo, but in moments like this all of that fell away and left only affection in Reborn’s eyes. No wonder women threw themselves at him, if he ever looked at them the way he looked at Tsuna when they danced.

“I don’t look at women this way, Fluffy-Tsuna.”

_“I’m walking on sunshine, oh oh, and don’t it feel good!”_

They reached the end of the song without being interrupted. This was because Iemitsu was standing frozen in the doorway with his jaw hanging open. Tsuna ignored him for the moment and curtsied to Reborn; Reborn bowed in return.

“You!” bellowed Iemitsu. “Smarmy pervert! You’ve corrupted my innocent Tsuna-fishie!”

It figured his mind would go there. Denying it would just sound defensive, so – roll with it. Tsuna waved up and down Reborn’s long, lean figure. “Would you say no to this?” Reborn preened.

Iemitsu flared his Flame, and Tsuna wrinkled his nose at how impure it was. Kyoko stepped closer to Tsuna to get away from it. “You – that’s – have you no shame?”

Reborn hooked one arm around Tsuna’s shoulders and the other around Kyoko. “Tsuna is my fluffy student. Kyoko is the daughter I never had. I have no reason to be ashamed of either of them.” Tsuna blushed a little. Reborn was far more of a parent to him than Iemitsu had ever been.

The message seemed to be sinking in. Iemitsu turned purple. “You can’t! I won’t allow it!”

Tsuna waggled the Sky Ring at him. “I’m Don Vongola now, I can do what I want.”

Iemitsu pulsed his Flame, ragged and undisciplined; whatever he was trying to do, Tsuna’s own Flame blocked the effects. “But Tsuna-fishie,” he said in a patronising tone, “You only got to inherit that title because of me. If I were to strike you from the family register, you could not become Decimo.”

That stung more than it should, but Tsuna didn’t let it show. “Weren’t you paying attention yesterday? I didn’t inherit the Vongola, I conquered them. It doesn’t matter whose son I am, Sawada-san.”

Iemitsu burst into insincere tears. “My Tsuna-fishie was mean to me!” he wailed, and fled down the hallway.

Hayato put down the camera. “Are you sure he deserves a probation period, Cielo mio?”

“I’m giving him enough rope to hang himself. Professionally, that is. Personally?” All he felt was lingering disappointment. “We’re through.”

Hayato said, “Would he actually disown you for, what, outranking him?”

“He’s welcome to try.” Their family register was safely in Namimori’s records office – and the clerk was a Hibari. “I wonder if Mama has added Basil and Flora to the register yet?”

“Is that legal?” asked Kyoko.

“I don’t even care anymore.”

Reborn ruffled his hair. “I’ve taught you well, Fluffy-Tsuna.”

*** 

There was a strange energy in the kitchens. Carelli couldn’t put his finger on it; it was more than the effort of feeding twice as many residents as usual. Those of the staff who were Flame Active said that a new Sky Flame – Decimo’s? – was spreading through the manor; there were whispers that something _big_ had gone down in the meeting between the Vongola Skies.

Signora Boccia swatted at the gossips with a spoon. “Sara, are those peas done yet? And Guy, if you burn the risotto I will have your hide.” Carelli kept his head down and concentrated on peeling shrimp. Knowing too much could be dangerous to his health, and so could knowing too little. Best to keep his mouth shut, his ears open, and pray for a favourable outcome.

The kitchen door creaked open, and one of the Tenth generation – the swordsman – stepped through. His cold gaze swept over Carelli as though measuring him for his coffin.

“Signore Yamamoto, yes?” said Signora Boccia. “Does Decimo need anything?”

“Ahaha, it’s just a personal thing.” Carelli blinked. Yamamoto was all smiles now; had he been imagining things? “That sesame dressing last night was really good, I wanted to ask what was in it.”

“Oh, are you interested in cooking?”

“Maa, my dad runs a restaurant, so I’ve picked up a few things.”

Signora Boccia took out a pen and notepad. “Perhaps we can trade information? I know less about Asian food than I would like – Carelli, how are those shrimp coming?”

He jumped. “Almost done, Ma’am.”

“Once you’re finished, I need three kilos of potatoes boiled.” She turned back to Yamamoto. “What do you say?”

“Sounds like fun.” He hopped onto the edge of a table and sat with his feet swinging. Some of the younger maids giggled behind their hands. “What would you like to know?”

Carelli missed the next part of the conversation, since he had to take the shrimp to the refrigerator and then collect the potatoes.

“The basics are the same in both places,” Yamamoto was saying. “Rice, noodles, seafood, eggplant.” Carelli was certain the swordsman was watching him. It made his shoulder blades itch. Would he ever see his family again?

“Sesame seeds as well, right?” said Signora Boccia.

“Haha, yeah, mushrooms too. Don’t worry, though; Tsuna likes all kinds of foods.”

“Still, none of us want to disappoint our next Don.” Carelli ducked his head and scrubbed his potatoes.

*** 

His Sky was getting closer, Xanxus could fucking feel it. He’d been waiting all _fucking_ day – since yesterday, really. Because holy fucking shit, Tsuna had snapped his fingers and made the old man knuckle under. And now it was Xanxus’s turn. The sentries had orders to notify him the fucking second Tsuna’s car crossed the perimeter, but he already fucking knew.

He hauled ass to the foyer. There were always assassins loitering there, because Varia HQ was a fucking gossip mill, and he caught whispers and flickers of hand signs. All wondering who the fuck Xanxus would meet at the door. “Shut the fuck up,” he snarled at them. Tsuna’s car pulled up – Xaanxus straightened his uniform jacket – and the door swung open. Tsuna walked in, with Hayato behind him, and his face lit up when he saw Xanxus. He held out a hand for a handshake.

Fuck that. Xanxus took a knee and kissed Tsuna’s ring. Dead fucking silence from the peanut gallery. Tsuna had been studying European manners, because he leaned forward and kissed Xanxus on both cheeks. “Shall we take this to your office, Xanxus?”

“Right this way, Aniki.” Varia HQ was just as old and rambling as the Iron Fort, just less fucking flashy. The route to the Commander’s office was twisty on purpose. A few turns in he noticed that Hayato wasn’t following them – he had, if Xanxus was sensing it right, returned to the car. Which left his Sky alone in a house full of fucking assassins. “Aniki, are you fucking nuts?”

Tsuna smiled. “I know you run a clean outfit, so I’m not worried.” 

It was like a punch to the fucking gut. Tsuna trusted _him_ to keep his fucking men in line. Trusted him absolutely with his safety. “Fucking hell.”

Tsuna looked up at him through his lashes. “Did you think I was going to go easy on you, Capo dela Varia?”

“Guess not.” Xanxus replied unsteadily. Out of reflex he fell back half a step, to a guard position. Even his Sky’s best fucking beatdown hadn’t affected him this much. He was _done_. Life or death, Tsuna _owned_ his fucking ass. Xanxus continued to scan their surroundings until they reached his office, and sent his Flames ahead to make sure it was clear. While he closed and locked the door behind them, Tsuna went straight to the sofa and sat down; he patted the cushion beside him in invitation. Xanxus had never been so quick to bare his throat.

*** 

Tsuna couldn’t help but smile at the noises Xanxus made with Tsuna’s hand on his throat. He could feel the pulse under his fingers; the lightest pressure turned Xanxus into a warm puddle in his lap. “You needed this, ne? How did you cope before?”

“Badly,” Xanxus snorted. “Levi makes a decent service top, and he never has trouble staying hard.” Tsuna giggled at that and scratched under Xanxus’s chin. “Sometimes Enrico would shove me against a wall when I got too bitchy.”

“His death was difficult for you, wasn’t it.”

“It fucked us all up pretty bad. Enrico was the best of us, Aniki; you would have liked him.”

“Xanxus … knowing what you know now, could he have been drawing you in?”

“Fuck. Might have been.” They were both silent for a moment, Tsuna still stroking Xanxus’s throat. “He had a Storm already, so it never occurred to me … don’t get me wrong, Aniki, you’re the best fucking thing that ever happened to me. It’s just …”

“What could have been, huh?” Tsuna was sure he would have liked Enrico; Xanxus didn’t praise people lightly. “I hope he would approve of me, too.”

Xanxus purred and arched under his hand. “Put a mark on me, Aniki.”

“Hie?”

“Don’t fucking care where, I want your mark on me.” Tsuna thought it over; Hayato had his collar, and Fon his tattoo, but Xanxus would suit something more primal. He bent down and bit Xanxus hard, at the angle of his neck and shoulder. Xanxus groaned.

“Better?”

“Fuck yeah.” They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. “The old man giving you any trouble?”

“Not a peep.” Timoteo was spending the day preparing the paperwork to transfer the Vongola accounts to Tsuna’s control; they would be signing them after dinner. “There’s so much to do already – oh yeah, there’s one project I could use the Varia’s help with.” 

*** 

In the Varia, a call to the Boss’s office is nervewracking, and Speculas is not immune. What does Xanxus want with him? His latest contracts all went flawlessly. Or maybe it’s the Boss’s guest; wild rumors are already flying about him. Is this the mysterious Decimo candidate? He’s about to see for himself.

Levi announces him and lets him in; he takes two steps into Xanxus’s office, and stops short. The mystery guest, in a crisp tailored suit and absurd floof of hair, is sitting on Xanxus’s sofa. The Varia Boss is standing at his elbow, in bodyguard position, his arms crossed over his chest and his shirt collar pulled open to display a fresh bite mark. He glares at Speculas and growls, “On your knees, trash.”

Speculas, not being Stupid, drops. The fluffy guest sighs. “Is that really necessary, Xanxus?”

“He’s one of mine, he’ll show the fucking respect you deserve.”

Another sigh. “Please stand, Signore Speculas. I hear you’re an infiltration specialist?”

“Yes, Don.” Because he may not know this man’s name, but his rank can’t be anything less.

“I have a job that could use your skill set. An extraction; the wife and child of one of my men are being held hostage. I want you to get them out – preferably from a locked and monitored room, without any clue how it was done.”

Intriguing. Rescues are out of Speculas’s usual line, but making a target vanish without a trace? That would take Quality. “I would be honoured to accept your contract, Don.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What [Reborn and Tsuna's dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xCkl-v9I8Mc) might look like. Plus, some more [fanart](https://www.deviantart.com/sefiruthemouse/art/The-Tutor-861787949) of a certain tutor.
> 
> It's strange that, although it's the event that kicks off the whole plot of KHR, Enrico's death barely gets mentioned in either canon or fanfic. I didn't actually expect this fic to go into that either, but it turned out to be Important. So, maybe keep your tissues handy.


	4. Chapter 4

“Another Vongola tradition? Should I be worried?” Tsuna adjusted the tote bag on his shoulder. Timoteo had called it a seaside picnic, but his Guardians were all acting like they were going to a shrine festival.

“Only the more public ones are based in lunacy,” Timoteo said. He looked ready for the seaside in sandals and rolled-up trousers. A wicker picnic basket was slung on his back; staff had prepared the food, but the family were carrying it all themselves.

“Aniki! Old Man!” Xanxus rounded the corner of the manor; he was in his usual outfit but, to Tsuna’s surprise, not visibly armed. Flanking him were his officers, with Basil among them.

“Good morrow, milord brother.”

“Basil-nii.” To Timoteo’s furrowed brow, Tsuna explained, “Basil is my half-brother and second-seat Rain.”

“…Is that so. Then it’s high time you joined in this tradition. Really, even if Iemitsu thinks it’s boring himself …”

“My thanks, Don Timoteo.” Basil bowed and looked around for Kyoko. “Milady, wouldst walk with me?”

“I’d love to.” She took his elbow.

Timoteo said, “How many more surprise Guardians do you have, Tsuna?”

Tsuna just smiled. “One of them’s coming to the ball, see if you can spot them.”

The large group strolled through the Iron Fort’s gardens and orchards, then down a scrubby hillside to the shore. Besides Basil and Kyoko, Hana was walking next to Xanxus, and Chrome with Hibari. Haru, Lussuria and Schnitten, of all people, were debating whether viscose counted as a natural fiber. Visconti was grumbling under his breath at the extra Clouds in his territory, and Daemon was lounging on Mukuro’s shoulder.

The path led to a sandy cove nestled between outcrops of rock. The cliffs shielded it from the wind and surf, as well as concealing it from the water side. Reborn reached for Tsuna’s hand. “Even I have never been here before, Fluffy-Tsuna. It’s truly family only.”

Timoteo added, “The staff avoid this place too; it’s said to be guarded by a devil.”

“A devil, or perhaps a Daemon?” Tsuna suggested. Spade primly turned his back. 

“Some things,” he said, “are sacred.” The cove _felt_ like a shrine’s grounds, though the only buildings were a beach hut and a flooded ruin with Greek columns. 

*** 

It didn’t feel like a long time to Xanxus; it never fucking did. The cove looked the same as he remembered it. “Think the pickings will be good, old man?”

“They should be. None of us have been down here much since … everything.”

And now there were _three_ whole Sky circles running around, laying out blankets and setting shit up. Timoteo said, “Would you like to do the honors for our new arrivals, Xanxus?”

“Are you fucking serious?”

The old man smiled. “I’m sure you remember how it goes.”

“Like I could fucking forget.” Xanxus ditched his boots and grabbed a bucket from the pile by the hut. “All you new trash, gather round. You too, bratty prince.” His other Elements had been here before, but Bel never got the chance. Xanxus went to the waterline to fill his bucket, then picked a likely spot on the beach. Tsuna and his Elements formed a loose circle around him. 

“Right. See this hole here?” he pointed at one of the many tiny divots scattered across the beach. If any of them were prissy they could use a shovel; Xanxus just plunged his fingers into the sand, and came up with a clam. “These little bastards are what gave the Vongola their name. It all started right here, on this fucking beach, with Giotto and his trash collecting clams and foraging for wild vegetables because they had nothing else to eat.”

Daemon put in, “There was a fisherman’s shack where the beach hut is now. I came from money; you can imagine my face when I saw it.”

“But you stayed,” said Tsuna.

“Oh yes. I stayed.”

Xanxus had been eight when Enrico crouched in the sand and told him this story. He never should have fucking doubted. “Doesn’t matter where you were born – anyone who comes here to dig clams is Vongola.” He dropped the clam in the bucket. “So get digging! Anywhere on the beach is fine, except in the temple of Poseidon over there.”

*** 

Timoteo sat on a log with his clam bucket at his feet, and rubbed his aching knees. He would not be able to take part in this tradition much longer, even without his impending exile. A figure sat down beside him; he almost thought it was Tsuna, but the hair was too light – and transparent. He took a moment to control his breathing. “Primo? … I forgot you could do that.”

“Tsuna thought you could use a sympathetic ear.”

Timoteo considered the massive errors he had made as Don. “Do I have one?”

“Hey, remember how my career ended. Ricardo wasn’t half as polite about it as Tsuna.” 

Even a Don was expendable for the survival of the Famiglia. On the beach he could see the future of the Vongola. Xanxus had landed both a Cloud and a wife, if he read the signs right; God only knew what their children would be like. Visconti was at the far end of the beach, ignoring them. Reborn, included at long last, was dressed in pirate garb and digging with a Leon-trowel; Takeshi and Squalo were chasing fish in the shallows. The cove had rarely been so lively, even when all his sons were present – and this wasn’t the whole of Tsuna’s circle. 

“He’s not what any of us expected,” said Timoteo.

“Wait until you see their version of poker, it’s a hoot.”

Behind them, Coyote was having a quiet fit, muttering about Flame ghosts and meddling ancestors. Timoteo told him, “Come sit down; you’re a part of this too.” His Storm calmed down with Timoteo’s hand on his shoulder. Timoteo understood his misgivings; he had generally ignored the spirits of the Sky Ring, as he didn’t like the thought of his predecessors looking over his shoulder, or worse, back seat driving. And now he faced the prospect of joining them. “I’m grateful Tsuna didn’t send my mother.”

“Daniella does have a few words to say to you.”

Timoteo winced; he could well imagine. “Do her Guardians have something to say, too?” asked Coyote. That was something Timoteo had often wondered himself. An eternity with his mother might be purgatory, but an eternity without his Guardians would be hell.

“That would be telling,” said Giotto. “Don’t worry about it.” Which was as good as a yes. Did that include Elements he had lost already? Perhaps he would see his wife again. And explain to her how he’d gotten their sons killed … better to stay alive a while longer.

*** 

The clams were bright sparks of life to Reborn’s senses. He scampered up and down the beach, filling his bucket with the finest specimens. This was not what he expected of the Vongola’s deepest secret, and that was a sign of how closely they held it. Now that he knew, a whole network of data on the Vongola fell into place. For one, the practice of marking their building projects with a clam shell in the foundation or cornerstone; the shells could easily have come from the fish market, but now Reborn was certain they came from _here_. And they meant something beyond the commonplace Mafia dealings in money and violence. It was obvious now that he was in the family.

Schnitten strolled up to him. “Good haul, Rica?”

… There were still lines, though. “You don’t get to call me that.”

Schnitten shrugged. “Reborn, then. Timo always said we’d see you here one day.”

Hyper intuition was such a cheat. Timoteo was a friend, but he had never felt the same bone-deep contentment with him as he did with Fluffy-Tsuna. “I didn’t want to be called Brow Nie,” he said aloud.

“That was Ganauche’s idea.” Schitten’s smile turned wistful; the original Ganauche had been gone for more than twenty years. Reborn had attended her funeral. “It’ good to have you here. I’m getting too old to keep up with the spies in the Iron Fort.”

Reborn tilted back his tricorn hat. “Oh? How many do you know of?”

“Four … I missed a few, didn’t I?”

“I’ve identified seven.” No spy could evade him and Spade and Basil, working in … harmony. Schnitten laughed.

“That doesn’t surprise me, since you spotted me so easily back in the day.”

Ah, yes. Reborn had pegged him as an infiltrator, Timoteo had snared him into his Sky, and when Schnitten’s former handlers objected – that had been Reborn’s first major contract. Good times. “Sit back and watch the show, it’s going to be entertaining.”

*** 

Clam bucket in hand, Hayato followed his Sky across the beach. Together, they had gathered a fair number of shellfish. “What do we do with these now, Juudaime?”

“Cook them, I guess? Xanxus?” called Tsuna-sama, “Is there anything else we’re supposed to do with these?”

“Just one thing.” Xanxus was digging with Belphegor, who now had a seaweed wreath on his head. “Come on over to the temple.”

The Greek ruin was half underwater, its columns broken and scattered. There was _just_ enough of the floor left to stand on. “Take the biggest clam in your bucket and toss it in the temple’s pool,” said Xanxus. “It’s supposed to ensure prosperity for the Vongola.”

It would also ensure a healthy population of clams in the cove. Tsuna threw his clam, then clapped his hands and bowed in the Shinto manner. Hayato crossed himself. Whether Greek, Japanese or Christian, _any_ divine favour was worth having. Belphegor threw a clam from his and Xanxus’s pail.

“Ushishishishi, and now, the feast!”

In small groups, the rest of the family came to make their offerings, and then gathered driftwood while Coyote raked out the fire pit. Soon they were all busy wrapping clams in vine leaves to steam in the coals. The kitchen staff had sent along salads, bread and pastries – but no coffee. Hayato would manage _that_ himself.

He took his trusty iron skillet out of his bag and set it on the fire. The beans were Reborn’s favourite blend; he measured them by eye and stirred them while they roasted. The Ninth generation watched sceptically at first, but that changed when the scent of coffee started to fill the air. Hand-roasted, hand-ground to just the right texture, then packed into an espresso pot with fresh, clear water. Among the picnic supplies were enamel cups in rainbow colors; the first orange cup went to Tsuna-sama. The second he presented to Nono – regardless of circumstances, he was Still a Sky. Xanxus got a shot of brandy in his. After _that_ , it was a free-for-all in which the pot was emptied as soon as Hayato refilled it.

“I think they like your coffee, Hayato,” said Tsuna-sama. He smiled behind his cup.

“Che, there’s only one opinion I care about.” Hayato had saved a cup for himself, and settled on a blanket beside his Sky.

*** 

Kyoko carefully removed a packet of clams from the fire pit and began to unwrap it. “Can you pass the rice salad, Basil-kun? This is wonderful, I can’t imagine how Iemitsu could find it boring.”

“Cause he’s shallow as fuck and can’t handle anything important,” said Xanxus.

“Strewth.” Basil scooped olives from a jar, then handed it to Kyoko. He had the family he deserved now, and it was That Man’s loss. Kyoko leaned against his shoulder. She pried open a clam and tipped it into her mouth, then paused as she bit something hard. It was a small sphere, the same color as the clam shells.

“Ah, you’ve found a pearl,” said Nono. “It’s a sign of good fortune.”

“Methought pearls were the purview of oysters,” said Basil. Kyoko rolled it between her fingers; it wasn’t shiny, or as smooth as jewellery pearls.

Ganauche said, “Any mollusc can form a pearl; hose from oysters are simply the best known. Pearls from the local clams are often unevenly shaped and, uh …” He trailed off. Kyoko saw he was wearing a ring with a similar pearl set in it. She wondered if it had brought him good luck.

*** 

“Gao!” Tsuna’s box animal was bounding around inside the fire pit, chasing sparks; Natsu liked the heat.

“Remarkable,” said Nono. There were other box animals out; Mukuro and Chrome’s twin owls perched on the beach hut roof, with Hibird tucked between them. Haru’s Aomaru was gnawing on a piece of driftwood. Tsuna reached into his bag.

“Xanxus, I was waiting for a good time to give this to you.” He tossed Xanxus a shiny new Box Weapon. The science team couldn’t tell him what its animal was; they had created a custom unit to account for Xanxus’s dual Flame.

“Fuck yeah, Aniki!” Xanxus fed his energy into the box. A huge feline – a liger? – leapt onto the sand. It turned a slow circle to examine its surroundings. Then it pounced on Xanxus, knocked him over – and started licking his face. “Ack! Get off me, you hairball!”

The liger didn’t listen. Xanxus tried to roll them over and it turned into a wrestling match, until they both rolled into the sea. Tsuna giggled into his cup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly, very important clams ^^


	5. Chapter 5

Tsuna fidgeted with the Sky Ring on his finger. This was his first major action as Don. It was normal to do some housecleaning when moving into a new place, and the Iron Fort had a rat problem.

“The vermin are assembled, omnivore,” Hibari told him.

“Thanks for your help, Kyoya-san.” Tsuna stood up from the Don’s desk – _his_ desk, he reminded himself – and picked up the stack of envelopes he had prepared, while Hibari jumped out the window. He had his information team with him today; they stepped across the hall to the conference room where seven nervous men and women were waiting.

They scrambled to their feet as Tsuna entered; he took the seat at the head of the table, with Kyoko and Basil flanking him, and Reborn perched on the back of his chair. “Be seated.”

Only one of this group was Flame Active, so he would have to rely on words and gesture to drive his point home. “I’m sure you all know who I am by now.” If not, the Ring should make it obvious. “And I know who you are, because you’re all spies.”

Reactions varied; some froze, a few blanched, others shifted uncomfortably. Tsuna continued, “I can’t allow that to go on. This is your one chance to come clean. Some of you did it for money, some because of blackmail; Mr Carelli, I know your situation is somewhat different. You may wait next door, please.” It wasn’t a request, and Carelli didn’t take it as one. Kyoko escorted him out.

Tsuna passed the stack of envelopes to Basil, who gave each spy one with their name on it. “In these letters are the terms I’m offering you. Take it or leave. If you are still in the Iron Fort by sunset tomorrow, I will consider you to have accepted my terms.” He hoped they would; his people brought him joy, even when they had a few rough spots, but if they proved to be threats to the Family he would have to dispose of them.

“And we should listen to you just because you’re wearing the Ring?” said Foggia, a mechanic in the Fort’s motor pool; he had recovered enough to get defensive. “Who died and put you in charge?”

The room’s temperature dropped. “Enrico, Massimo, and Federico Vongola,” Tsuna told him. He expected some questioning of his status, but bringing his predecessors into it was a step too far. Even the other spies looked at Foggia like he’d spit up a toad. “I’m sure you did not mean to disrespect my cousins, Mr Foggia, so you’ll be happy to sponsor a Mass in their names at Agrigento’s Cathedral.” In Japan, he would have demanded a donation to a temple; either made for a hefty fine. Foggia gulped.

“Yes, Sir.” He opened his envelope; the others did the same. The shortest letter was for Zorah, the gardener; it read simply, “Your handler works for me. Further instructions will come by the usual channels.” She was part of Viper’s network.

Ideally, the others could be used to pass on misinformation. The two that had been blackmailed (a lesbian affair and an illegitimate child, respectively) found copies of the blackmail material enclosed, and a promise that any copies had been destroyed. Those that took money got a detailed list of the payments they had received and an invoice for Tsuna’s cut. His Elements could be scary sometimes. 

“Any questions?” There were none.

*** 

Carelli trembled. His worst nightmare had come true, and his family would pay the price along with him. Decimo, who looked so gentle and fluffy, looked him in the eye and told him that he _knew_.

“Through here, please,” said Decimo’s female Guardian. Carelli gulped and stepped through the door to await his fate.

“Enzo?”

He was seeing things. “Julia?” It _was_. His wife, and their daughter Rosa, were sitting in a Vongola receiving room, healthy and unharmed. “My God.”

“Papa!” Rosa glomped his legs, and he crumpled into a chair. His wife squeezed in beside him, and they held each other for a long moment.

“How is this possible?” he murmured. Julia leaned her head on his shoulder.

“I’m not sure. It all happened so fast last night. The agent – all he said was, ‘the Vongola sent me and we’re going to get you out.’ He must have used Rain Flames – and then we were here.” In the Iron Fort. The Don wouldn’t go to this much trouble just to have them killed. His family was the only hold the Gatopardi Famiglia had on him; with a single stroke, the Vongola had negated his reason for spying.

“Papa, are the bad men going to come back?”

“No, honey. They can’t come here.” He was certain of it now.

There was a quiet knock on the door, and Decimo slipped into the room. “Are you doing all right in here?”

Carelli threw himself at Decimo’s feet and kissed his hands in gratitude. “I shall never stray again, Decimo, I swear it!”

“Glad to hear it.” The young man laid a hand on Carelli’s shoulder. “And your family? I hope your trip wasn’t too stressful.”

“We are well, Sir,” said Julia. “You have our thanks.” Rosa, trying to act grown-up, nodded solemnly.

“I try to take care of my people.” Decimo scratched his neck. “I told Fiorino that you can take the rest of today and tomorrow off, and these two can stay in your quarters until you decide where you want to live.”

He would allow them to choose? Julia and Rosa were not to be hostages for his good behaviour? Carelli’s eyes prickled. Julia said, “I suppose we can’t go back to the old place.”

Decimo shook his head. “There are obviously some security problems there, and Mr Carelli, that includes your not feeling able to speak up.” 

Carelli knew he should have reported the kidnapping. Even if he was a Flameless grunt; he didn’t expect the Vongola leadership to care about him. But this one did. He started to stammer an apology, but Decimo waved him to silence. “That’s your Boss’s shortcoming, not yours. I had Kyoko put together some options for you. Here they are, along with some other instructions.” He passed Carelli an envelope.

“I shall obey to the letter, Sir!”

Decimo snorted. “For heaven’s sake, read it before you say that. Have some sense.”

“Yes, Sir.” It would make no difference. Decimo deigned to show mercy on them, and Carelli knew his duty.

*** 

“I thought we agreed on this,” Hayato shouted. “The staff will be using the combini the most, so it should be near the cafeteria.”

“But the north side has that cool stonework,” Haru retorted. “We could do a pirate motif!”

Hayato threw up his hands. “It’s not a fricking theme park!”

“A sense of adventure is good for morale though.”

“And it won’t matter if nobody uses the place!” They were in the Iron Fort’s basement, at the foot of the grand staircase. There were several storage rooms down here that could be converted into a convenience store – if only they could decide on _which one_.

“But what about ambience? Haru wanted to do a mural.” 

Hayato rolled his eyes. The whole basement had arched ceilings; couldn’t she work with _that_? He was about to reply when Coyote Nougat strode down the stairs.

“There you are. Gokudera, a word if you please.”

“I’ll go talk to Elisabeta-san then,” said Haru. “Have fun!” She waved as she bounced away.

Coyote dragged Hayato into an empty storeroom. His Flame roiled around him as he slammed the door shut behind them. “You’re a no-name bastard street rat.”

“Not anymore.” Not since Tsuna-sama brought him home.

“Your father’s a Palermitani wannabe.” Hayato _wished_ he could see Coyote say that to his father’s face. Don Colombo was one of the many new money Bosses in Palermo who had grown fat on the drug trade; but their power could not compare to the Sky dynasties that ruled Sicily’s provinces. 

“Are you expecting me to defend my sperm donor?” He had seen this play out many times; two Storms snapping at each other until they escalated to yelling and then violence. Hayato, however, was _not_ purely Storm. He had threads of Rain and Lightning, and he called on them to stay calm and focused. Coyote snarled at him.

“Do you think you deserve to be Vongola’s Right Hand?”

“Hell, no. It doesn’t matter what I think though, that’s where my Sky wants me.” 

“And he would trust you with such a role?” Coyote sneered. 

That was a stupid question to ask the Guardian of a Sky. There were a _thousand_ ways Tsuna-sama showed his trust in him. From sleeping in his arms to granting access to his bank accounts. Aloud, he said, “I have specific permission to disobey him if I believe it necessary.” That was unheard-of in the Mafia, and it brought Coyote up short. “Look, if you want to fight, just say so, I have work to do.”

*** 

Hana had had it up to _here_ with the monkeys that infested this place. A manor this nice should have civilised residents, but nooo, it was noise and testosterone all day long. She stalked along a corridor, trying to find a quiet spot before she did something everyone else would regret.

Hibari dropped down beside her. “Woman.”

“Hey, carnivore, What’s up?”

“You. Me. Outside.”

Hana grinned and drew her tessen. “Now you’re talking. Want to make it four? I’ll call Skull if you grab the old biscuit.”

“Hn.” Hibari leapt away; Hana took out her phone.

***

The Vongola family cemetery was terraced onto a wind-scoured hillside just beyond the manor gardens. Tsuna and Xanxus walked side by side down the rows of graves; those of Skies were easy to pick out by the polished copper plaques on each of them. Seven previous Dons were laid to rest here, and it was strange to think that Tsuna had spoken to them. Agaves and aloes were planted between the graves, and in front of each lay, not flowers, but piles of clam shells.

“Should be through here,” Xanxus said. This was the newest section, where his brothers were buried. Xanxus stopped in front of Enrico’s headstone and laid a clam shell on it. “I shouldn’t be fucking introducing you like this, Aniki.”

“I’m sorry I never met him,” Tsuna said. Even the strongest Will could not cheat death entirely. “What happened to his Guardians? He had a full circle, right?”

“Storm’s right there.” Xanxus pointed to the grave next to Enrico’s, this one marked by a disk of carnelian. “Didn’t last a fucking week past the funeral. Cloud fucked off to a cabin in Finland. The Lightning you’ve met; he goes by Ganauche these days. The others went down fighting along with him.”

“And the man that shot him?”

“Executed by his own Family, hoping it would buy them some mercy.” Xanxus grinned suddenly. “It didn’t.”

Tsuna shook his head. Chances were the gunman had been acting on orders, and his Family hung him out to dry when the Vongola came for revenge. They more than deserved what they got. “I wonder what Enrico would think of what I’m trying to do.”

His intuition pinged, and tugged towards the Sky Ring. Enrico had also briefly worn it; could it be …? He lifted his hand, and channelled his Flames into the Ring.

A ghostly figure appeared. Xanxus exclaimed, “What the fuck?”

“Nice to see you, lil’ bro.” Enrico was a broad-shouldered man, wearing a polka-dot tie along with the ubiqitous Mafia suit.

“You died on me, asshat!”

“Sorry about that. Couldn’t help it.” Enrico reached out a transparent arm to ruffle Xanxus’s hair. “You’re doing better now, right?”

“Yeah, ever since I met – ”

“Your Sky. I know.” Enrico winked at Tsuna. He must have been watching with the other Ring spirits all this time. “And man, have I been kicking myself for not noticing that. Tsuna, you better treat Xan right, or I will haunt your ass.”

“My ass is occupied; pick somewhere else,” Tsuna said, which startled a laugh out of Enrico.

“I can see Xan has the Sky he deserves. As the Ninth-and-a-half Vongola head, I approve of where you’re taking the Family.”

Tsuna squared his shoulders. “You can count on me to keep the Family safe.”

“I may not be as _there_ as the older Dons, but I’ll be watching over you both. I know you’ll make me proud.”

Xanxus blinked rapidly. “Fuck you. Just … fuck you.”

“Love you too, Xan.”

*** 

The evening sun slanted across the Iron Fort’s courtyard. Timoteo was, for once, just enjoying the view; all of the paperwork was out of his hands, the accounts transferred to Tsuna’s name. He had a glass of limoncello at his elbow and Coyote dozing against his shoulder.

Brow Nie came out onto the terrace, carrying a tablet with barely concealed glee. “Timo, you’re going to want to see this. It’s the most terrifying picture I’ve seen all week.”

“Oh?” Brow Nie handed him the tablet, and Timoteo snorted. It was a photo of Visconti asleep on a garden bench, with Hibari, Hana and Skull duMort all napping around him, apparently at ease with each other’s presence. “That _is_ terrifying.” Clouds capable of coexisting? The mind boggled. “How did Skull get on the grounds?”

Brow Nie shrugged. “His bike is in the garage. I wasn’t about to disturb them to ask questions; they already levelled the quarry garden.”

“That’s what it’s there for,” Coyote mumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tsuna konmaris his household staff (they all spark joy). ^^
> 
> Enrico is a bro.
> 
> Four Cloud rampage is a new world record!


	6. Chapter 6

The transfer of power from one Don to the next was more complex than signing a few documents. The Vongola was people, not numbers on a page, and thus Timoteo was taking Tsuna to meet some of them.

The village, built of local stone, looked like it had sprouted from the hillside. It was surrounded by terraced wheat fields, currently parched and bare; the harvest had been good this year. Here, there was no pretense about who actually governed. When their cars pulled into the piazza in front of the parish church, the mayor and other village dignitaries – all Vongola men – were waiting to greet them.

“Don Timoteo, it’s an honor to have you here again.”

“It’s always a pleasure, Mayor Bruno.” Tsuna and his Guardians were climbing out of their car, and Timoteo waved them over. “May I present my heir and successor, Tsunayoshi Sawada.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Signore …” Bruno stubled over the Japanese name.

“Please, call me Tsuna. I look forward to working with you.”

Timoteo hid a laugh at Bruno’s perplexed expression. “Perhaps some refreshment might be available?”

“Oh, of course, Don.” Bruno guided their group to a café patio shaded by lemon trees in square stone planters. “My wife has prepared a meal using the finest ingredients we have.” Tsuna glanced at Hayato, who made a note on his phone. So, they knew to count the meal when tallying the village’s tribute. Reborn would have taught them that, but it was already reflexive.

They sat in the traditional order, Skies and host in the center, their Guardians around them, and the local Mafiosi around the perimeter. Perhaps the gesture was superfluous deep in Vongola territory. The only eyes on them were the villagers, examining them from behind curtains and shutters. Bruno clapped his hands, and servers brought out an antipasto of bread and sliced sausages. Timoteo leaned back to enjoy his meal.

*** 

After lunch, Tsuna decided to explore the village with his Elements while the older generation lounged in the piazza. The mayor delegated his son Sebastiano to act as their guide.

“Are – are the stone houses truly so fascinating, Sir?”

Tsuna nodded. “Where I grew up, old buildings are always made of wood. I’ve never seen anything like this before.” The village streets were narrow and rambling; the only open space was the piazza. Besides the church and town hall, it housed several cafes, a bank, and a general store with a faded coca-cola sign in the window. In the center of the piazza stood a two-tiered fountain with a stone carving above the spouts. “That’s the story of Odysseus and the Cyclops,” Sebastiano explained. Tsuna stepped closer to take a look. The fountain also had a row of clam shells embedded in the cement around its edge; he ran his fingers over them.

His intuition twinged. His hand shot up, just in time to catch … a pebble? “Did someone just throw a rock at me?”

Sebastiano blanched and began to stammer an apology. Tsuna was more curious than angry, though. “Takeshi? Gently, please.”

Takeshi smiled, and darted off in the direction the rock had come from. Moments later, Flames flared – first an unfamiliar, untrained Cloud, then Takeshi’s Rain. Hayato grumbled, “Juudaime, what is it with you and Clouds?”

“I wish I knew.” 

Takeshi reappeared, holding a boy by the collar. He was around ten years old, and he scowled and kicked at Takeshi, trying to break out of his hold. Hayato added his Flame to the mix, and between the two of them, the young Cloud stopped struggling. Tsuna approached him and held out the pebble. “I believe this is yours?” The boy scowled and snatched it from him. “Hi. I’m Tsuna.”

“I don’t care.”

Sebastiano his his face in his hand. “Vito, why are you like this? Sir, this is my cousin Vittorio, he’s … difficult.” He was just like Hibari at that age.

“Don’t suck up to outsiders, Bastian.” 

“Is that why you don’t like us?” asked Tsuna. Vittorio glared.

“You don’t belong here. This is a local square for local people. There’s nothing for you here.”

“We keep him away from the tourists,” muttered Sebastiano. Across the piazza, the adults were watching them; the flared Flames had caught their attention. Vittorio, oblivious, continued his rant.

“Foreigners are always trouble. You come in, take what you want, tell us what to do, and we get nothing. You don’t know us. You don’t know how we live.” He even spoke in a thick local dialect of Sicilian. Thanks to his Mists, Tsuna was able to keep up and respond the same way.

“I may have been born in Japan. But make no mistake, I am Vongola by blood. And if you think you can do better for this village than me – prove it.” The Cloud was right about one thing; he knew far more about the village and its needs than Tsuna could. “Send me your proposal for how you would improve the village, and I’ll fund it up to, say, ten thousand Euros.” That still sounded like a huge amount; this way the money would be put to good use. He offered one of his Vongola business cards and Vittorio took it warily.

“You promise this isn’t some trick?”

Tsuna laid his hand on the edge of the fountain. “I swear on these clam shells.”

*** 

Hayato tracked the baby Cloud on his way out of the piazza. “Che. Never thought I’d see a Cloud with a worse temper than Hibari.”

Tsuna-sama said, “Hibari was just as bad when he was younger.” Before Tsuna-sama had access to his Flames. Hayato wanted to turn around and glare at Nono.

“Ahaha, Hibari is always much calmer around Tsuna,” said Takeshi. 

“Hmm. What helped in Namimori should help here too.” Tsuna-sama went over to one of the lemon trees planted in the piazza. 

He unfurled his Flame and coiled it into the tree, tucking in the edges so the packet of Flame would endure for months. The tree shone much brighter than Tsuna-sama chose to in public. Its glow reached the whole piazza; even Sebastiano, whose Flame was still latent, seemed to feel something. Hayato had seen the benefits firsthand. Flame Active adults were more stable, latent children more likely to go Active. Dino had reported the same effects when he began using Flame-reservoir trees on Cavallone lands. And all would honor the Sky who shared his soul with them.

“That should be enough to go around,” said Tsuna-sama. “And Sebastiano, please pass on to your father that I don’t want any fighting over the fruit from this tree. Draw lots or something.”

“Understood, Sir.”

“What are we doing next, Juudaime?” asked Hayato.

“Next, we leave quietly before Vittorio-kun figures out that I just hired him.”

*** 

Xanxus’s whiskey glass was almost empty, and he couldn’t reach the _bottle_ because his fucking box animal had him pinned. The liger sprawled across most of the sofa, including his fucking lap; Lussuria perched on the arm, weaving feathers and a coon tail into his mane. “Aren’t you a handsome gentleman? Yes you are! Boss darling, has this fine fellow got a name yet?”

“I’m still trying to pick a fucking language. Bratty prince, it’s your turn to draw.”

Belphegor fished a black card out of the box. “ _I don’t need drugs to get high, I’m high on, blank,_ ” he read.

Xanxus considered his hand of cards, decided on ‘ _Natural Male Enhancement_ ’, and tossed it over. Viper had filled a kiddie pool with hundred-euro bills and buried themselves in it, cards in one hand and strawberry milk in the other. Levi had a book on cuneiform tablets propped open at his elbow. Squalo was napping; Bel, the little shit, snuck over to tickle his nose with the end of his braid.

“Voooi!” He lunged at Bel, who skipped aside, snickering.

“The Prince demands you participate in the game, peasant.”

Xanxus drained his glass and chucked it at them. To Lussuria he said, “Some version of migliore. Mieux? Parhaat? Best, bester, bestest?

“Bestest? Voi, English doesn’t work that way.”

“It’s a well-attested colloquial usage,” said Levi. He selected a card and passed it to Bel. “If you want to be grammatical about it, _Bester_ works in German.”

“Bester it is then, furball.” Xanxus scratched the liger’s ears. Bel shuffled the cards and selected _‘Sweet, sweet vengeance’_ as the best response. His phone rang; he dug it out of his pocket and propped it on Bester’s flank, raising an eyebrow at the caller. “Fiorino, what the fuck?”

“Good evening to you too, Sir. I have a few small matters for your attention, if this is a convenient time.”

“Get the fuck on with it.”

“First, may I confirm the attendance of yourself and your Guardians at the inheritance ball?”

“Wouldn’t fucking miss it.”

“And the other, Decimo has ordered a room to be set aside for you in the family wing; do you have any preferences?” Yeah, he could see staying over at the Iron Fort more often once the old men were out of the picture. 

“My old room free?”

“Yes, Sir, though perhaps insufficient for a full Sky circle …”

Like fuck it was. That fourth-floor room had been _enormous_ for an eight-year-old, and once he’d found Squalo, still huge for two twelve-year-olds. “Just put in the biggest fucking bed you can find, and we’ll puppy-pile it.”

*** 

“It is a host’s duty to serve tea to his guests, Fon.”

“Cousin, recall that I am Yin Tian’s servant in all things, including tea.”

“Whereas I am the head of the Clan, and responsible for the Clan’s hospitality – ” Bailong pinches his nose. “Why are we arguing about this? One of us will pour the tea, and the other bring it to him.”

“Agreed, cousin,” Fon says, serene and no doubt greatly amused. For the last week, he has been drilling the Clan’s sons – they will pose as Bailong’s entourage at the Vongola ball, but their true duty is to their Sky. Bailong ponders the invitation lying folded on the table before him. He has seldom travelled outside of Asia; the Yunque have no more holdings in Sicily than this small safehouse in Syracuse. Yet he comes when Yin Tian calls.

Fon stands abruptly. “Master is here.” He opens the garden door and Yin Tian is outside, flanked by his Guardians and screened by Mist. Fon lays his head down in obeisance. “Master, one bids you welcome.”

“Hi, Fon. Bailong-san, it’s good to see you again.” He steps across the threshold and allows his Flame to unfurl. It has grown deeper, richer now that it’s fully unsealed. Bailong bends his head under its weight.

“One is honoured to receive you in one’s house, Lord.” While Fon is distracted, Bailong grabs the teapot and pours a cup for Yin Tian. His honor guards scramble into the room to make their bows, then line up against the wall at parade rest. The Lightning Guardian makes faces at them, but they don’t twitch. 

Fon gives Bailong a dry look as he collects the teacup and delivers it to his Sky. Yin Tian accepts it and gathers Fon into his arms. 

“I want to fill you in on what to expect at the ball. With Timoteo I’ve settled things to my satisfaction; Iemitsu still thinks he did nothing wrong.” A Flame seal – that is a scant step short of execution. Or a step beyond it, in some opinions. To inflict that on his own son; to leave him alone, defenseless, and cut off from his very soul. And Yin Tian emerged not only whole, but triumphant. “Please don’t spread it around yet, but if anyone asks, you can confirm it’s true. Haru, have you got the chart?”

“Right here, Boss!” She pulls out a large color-coded document. “Stuff in red we’re not supposed to talk about ever, yellow we can answer if someone asks, and green we can talk about as much as we want.”

“And the blue?”

“Hahi, those are lies.” The first item is the silly story about space aliens, much to his amusement. The second is that Tsunayoshi is now the Vongola heir. He skips back to the red section; there is a note that Tsunayoshi has already taken the title of Don. Yin Tian winks at him.

“It’s been a busy summer.”

“So I see, Lord. Congratulations on your new holdings.” Bailong considers what would make an appropriate tribute offering for the most powerful man in the underworld. He reads the chart again and commits it to memory. “May one conclude that you will continue the separation between your two titles?”

Yin Tian nods. “In fact, during the ball I want you to convey Yin Tian’s greetings to Vongola Decimo.” A fine bit of mischief; Bailong will look forward to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Fon and Bailong are always like this.
> 
> Cards Against Humanity is a perfect game for the Varia ^^
> 
> What *is* it with Tsuna and Clouds?


	7. Chapter 7

The last time Dino attended a Vongola ball, he’d tripped and fallen down the grand staircase, and Squalo mocked him for a month over it. Now he was here to support his little brother, and he had all _five_ of his Guardians to back him up.

“I see Skull made up his mind,” Tsuna said as they shook hands.

“Awesome, isn’t it?” Whether because of the extra bond or Skull’s multiplication abilities, Dino’s safe range had doubled. “I just need a Lightning, now.”

“Have you asked Yuni if she knows anyone? I’ll keep my eyes open, too.”

“You’re such a matchmaker, bro.” Dino scanned the room. The event was invitation only, for Vongola, Alliance families and a few special guests. Bosses, their consiglieres, wives and escorts. There was a table with silver basins to hold their tributes, already piled with cash and gems. Nono’s Guardians as well as Tsuna’s were scattered through the crowd; the Varia hadn’t arrived yet. He wandered to the bar for a drink, Romario at his heels. One of the attending Bosses sidled up to him.

“Don Cavallone, it’s good to see you here.”

“Don Ermellino, isn’t it? How’s the party so far?”

“A truly splendid occasion, as I’m sure you’ll agree. I’ve heard you know Vongola Decimo quite well.”

Dino would be getting a lot of these questions. “We do share the same tutor,” he replied.

“One can’t help comparing him to his father.” Of the four Skies in the room, Iemitsu’s rust-orange Flame was the loudest; Tsuna, out of habit, had his Flame barely visible. Dino smirked.

“I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

The ballroom doors crashed open, and Xanxus strode in, flanked by his officers. This ought to be good. A tense hush descended, and every guest turned to watch. They had heard the outcome of the Ring Battles, assumed that Xanxus was displeased with it, and his thunderous expression did not suggest otherwise. The Mafiosi stood aside as he went straight for Tsuna. When he was within arm’s length – he dropped to one knee, and kissed Tsuna’s ring. 

Dino barely managed to catch Ermellino, who fainted at the sight.

Tsuna kissed Xanxus’s cheeks and they exchanged a few quiet words. Dino bit his lip to keep from laughing; the audience was staring like they had never seen Xanxus before. As if it was a surprise that he had manners, he just didn’t use them on ‘trash’. Ermellino started to come around, and Dino set him on his feet.

“My apologies, Don Cavallone. I thought I saw …”

“Not just you, Ermellino. My little brother has some interesting friends.”

“Yes, well.” Ermellino straightened his suit, embarrassed. “There should be no need to mention this minor incident.”

Dino smiled. “My lips are sealed.” Until he needed a favour, at least.

*** 

Tsuna couldn’t quite say he was enjoying the ball. This many suit-clad Mafiosi would be overwhelming even if they weren’t all Flame Active; it took an effort of Will to keep from turtling his Flame completely and hiding in the kitchen.

Facing such a large gathering was easier with his own scattered among the guests. These men were supposed to be his people too, but he could see the doubt in their eyes. His task tonight was to change that – and maybe have a bit of fun with them. “Yun Bailong, Eye of the Storm Fon, welcome to the Iron Fort.”

“We are honoured to be here, Vongola Decimo. Our Lord, the Yin Tian, directs us to convey his felicitations.”

“My thanks to him as well. Tell me, is there any truth to the rumors about space aliens?”

Fon piped up, “Those stories are quite absurd; it was actually elves.” Tsuna bit his lip; he would have to tell Kawahira that Fon had called him that. Loudly enough to be overheard, and add a fresh twist to the tale.

As his hidden allies moved aside, Tsuna turned to the next underboss and gestured at Basil, his current close guard. “Don Corvino, have you met my brother Basil?”

“Charmed … I wasn’t aware the two of you were related, Decimo.”

“It was a surprise to me as well,” said Tsuna. “Basil-nii has been helpful in getting me settled in.” And a bastard half-sibling made juicy bait for all sorts of schemes; they would keep his status as Element quiet, and see what he reeled in. Basil took over the conversation with Corvino, and Chrome smoothly stepped into place as Tsuna’s guard. 

“Shall we dance, Boss?”

“Sure.” That was planned, too, as a break from all the tactical conversations. He glanced at Mukuro, who was posing as the DJ, and got a wink in return. He led Chrome onto the dance floor.

A jazz tune started up, one they often practiced with, and together they stepped into a foxtrot. It was the simplest of the dances which Reborn was teaching them; Tsuna wanted to enjoy himself, not worry about tripping over his own feet.

They were the only ones on the floor; as Reborn had explained, everything at a Mafia ball was about display. Tsuna didn’t feel like he was showing off. Even without consciously drawing on his Flame, he was in harmony with Chrome. Their feet moved in unison, always in step with the music. Tsuna remembered parts of his childhood when he could barely walk; all the effort of breaking the Seal was worth it for moments like this. Let the audience think what they liked.

When the song came to an end, Chrome stood on tiptoe to kiss him. Tsuna smiled and offered her his elbow. Kyoko and Reborn, in adult form, were waiting on the edge of the dance floor. “You call that a dance, Fluffy-Tsuna?”

“I do, sensei. What would you call a dance?” Reborn tilted his hat down and smirked.

An electric guitar blared over the speakers. If Tusna and Chrome danced with elegance and simplicity, the two Suns were all energy: dashing from one end of the floor to the other in a blazing quickstep. Reborn was showing off both his skills and his Guardian status. And he was announcing Kyoko as his apprentice, in a way that proved she could keep up with him. Anyone with sense would be wary.

Hayato brought him and Chrome glasses of mineral water. “Squalo is complaining that there’s no punch to spike.”

“What was he going to spike it with?”

“Truth serum.”

Now _that_ would make for an exciting party. “Maybe at Christmas.”

*** 

The kitchen resembled a war zone; a frenzy of bodies, flashing blades and shouted orders. “Carelli, have you got those scallions done?”

“Yes, Signora!” He pushed the bowl to the edge of his worktop. It vanished into the scrum, and a bowl of egg whites appeared. 

“Stiff peaks, get to it!” He washed his hands and retrieved an eggbeater from its hook.

Julia hurried past with a bin of soiled dishes. After dropping it off at the scullery, she paused briefly at his station. “How are you feeling, dear?”

“Tired.” He had been up at dawn to prepare bouillon; the Iron Fortstaff was sparing no effort on this debut of their new Don. “Who’s watching Rosa?”

“The laundry maids. Last time I checked, they were making sock puppets.” Carelli smiled; word of what had happened to them had spread through the staff grapevine. He’d gotten some hazing, but most judged that Decimo had settled the matter.

“Thanks for pitching in today, you didn’t have to.”

“It wouldn’t be right if I didn’t.” She pecked him on the cheek and went to fetch another bin of dishes.

*** 

Reborn was in the mood to cause chaos, and he had the perfect target. Iemitsu was holding down a corner by the bar with his toadies; as Reborn approached, one of them was saying, “Your son is an excellent dancer, Sawada. You must be so proud.”

Iemitsu laughed, but it sounded hollow. “That’s my boy, he’s very talented …”

“I was surprised. You’re always telling us how cute and clumsy he is.”

“Heheh, that was when he was little, don’t you know.”

Reborn hopped up on a side table next to them. “Both of your sons are good on their feet, Iemitsu.” He tilted his head at the dance floor, where Basil and Kyoko were now gliding through a waltz. “I’m sure they get it from you.”

The idiot grinned nervously. “It’s normal for kids to take after their father, am I right?” Now that Tsuna acknowledged Basil so openly, that Iemitsu hadn’t done so was going to raise eyebrows.

“They get along so well, too. That’s no surprise with a Sky as bright as Fluffy-Tsuna in the family.” First Xanxus’s little show, and then the dance, showing respect for traditional arts – the Mafiosi could see that Tsuna would not be his father’s puppet. The knot of opportunists around Iemitsu was already shrinking. And they hadn’t even gotten to the good part yet. 

*** 

His breath ragged with exertion, Xanxus looked deep into Hana’s eyes. “See, it does take two to tango.”

“That’s the only reason I put up with you, Kong.” If he tried for a kiss, she’d probably fucking bite.

“Up for another round?”

Hana shook her head. “This pack of baboons is getting to me. I’m going to grab a plate and hole up in the library.” All three family Clouds were doing that – without murdering each other, which was fucking sorcery. 

“You’ve got my number,” he told her, and went to the bar for another drink. Fon was also there, getting a cup of tea, and he decided to hitch a fucking ride on Xanxus’s shoulder.

“One observes you still bear Master’s bite mark,” he murmured.

“Going to get it tattooed over. Where’d you get yours done?”

“Taipei.” It would still be worth the fucking trip, to find tattoo ink that could stand up to Storm Flames. Across the ballroom, the old man stepped up on a small podium; Xanxus discreetly braced his back against the wall and set down his glass.

“Good evening, gentlemen of the Vongola, the Alliance, and honoured guests. This past decade has been one of turmoil for our Famiglia.” That was a fucking bland way to put it, not that Xanxus wanted the Family’s private business paraded around. “The deaths of three of my sons have cast doubt on the future of the Vongola. But like our namesake, we always have hidden resources. It is my privilege today to present my heir, Vongola Decimo, Sawada Tsunayoshi.”

Tsuna stepped onto the podium; fuck, he looked like a fucking Primo plushie. “Good evening.” He spoke quietly, so that the gathering had to go fucking silent to catch his words. “I am honoured by the chance to lead the Vongola into a new generation, and I look forward to working with you all.”

He held up his hands, and a bright, steady sphere of Sky Flame appeared between them. There were gasps; served the fuckers right for underestimating him. He wasn’t done, either. Behind him, on the ballrooms’ massive mantelpiece, a row of candelabras had been set up; Tsuna lit the candles in a wave, one after another, without a wobble, without fucking turning to look.

To top it off he blanketed the whole fucking room with his Flame. Brought it down brighter and denser, until knees started shaking – and _held_ it there. Because the trash would bitch about getting put on their knees, instead of taking it like fucking men. Xanxus purred. Fon went limp on his shoulder. The jackass gaped like a hooked trout, and tried to counter-flare, but Tsuna had him fucking pinned. He held his Flame for a long moment, so the whole fucking crowd could taste it. Then he gathered it all back into himself.

“Thank you for your attention,” he said, bowed, and stepped off the podium. Fucking historic. There was a deep silence – no applause, it would be like clapping in fucking church – and then every-fucking-body was talking at once.

*** 

Hayato caught Tsuna in an enthusiastic embrace. After a display of strength and skill like that; he wanted to curl up at Tsuna-sama’s feet and forget about the rest of the world. Perhaps later he would be granted the chance. Right now, Tsuna-sama was snuggling into his chest, and he bowed his head to nuzzle his Sky’s hair.

“Gonna go hide in bed now.”

“Thank you for remembering my advice, Cielo mio.” Their work was done for the evening; any underbosses who wanted to pay their respects properly would do so later, in private. Chrome slipped in beside them and took Tsuna’s hand.

“No one will notice us leave.”

“The after party is snuggles and cocoa!” Haru said, taking up position behind them. The Varia and Nono could wrap up the ball; the priority for Tsuna-sama’s Guardians was to get him his rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for [Reborn and Kyoko's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gJkCTX-fvpk) dance, and [Tsuna and Chrome's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AVuHaPRfEsk) dance - did you know there's a real jazz song called 'Orange Colored Sky'? I didn't! It's by Nat King Cole, even!
> 
> It is the time of year when I'm on a constant sugar high. And yes, I will be posting the last chapter on Christmas Day. ^^


	8. Chapter 8

The Don’s office looked rather bare now; the Ninth Generation had removed their personal books and decorations, and someone – likely Coyote – had passive-aggressively cleared the desk down to the last paperclip. Timoteo had moved to a secondary office while he acted as Tsuna’s proxy for the next couple of years. Despite that, the desktop was already full of new paperwork, with Daemon sprawled on top of it.

Tsuna walked his fingers across an empty display case to measure it. “This is just about right for Monty’s tank. What do you think, Mukuro?”

“Kufufufu.” The Mist wove an illusion of the ball python in his habitat. Monty didn’t like being near the other snakes in Tsuna’s menagerie, so the Don’s office would make a good home for him.

There was a tap at the door, and Fiorino stepped in. He was holding a leather tray that matched the in and out trays on the desk. “I found the item you requested, Decimo.”

“Thanks.” Tsuna placed it next to the other two, then scooped Daemon off the documents and deposited him in it.

“What the … this is surprisingly cosy.” Chrome gathered up the papers and started to sort them.

Fiorino didn’t blink at the illusory snake tank. “Do you have any further instructions regarding your office?”

“Could you see about getting a good rug in here?” If his people insisted on grovelling before him, they could at least be comfortable when they did. “We’re still working on the rest; I’ll write a list for you.” One of the Mists would move Monty’s tank; Tsuna would bring some calligraphy samplers to hang up –should he add some Japanese prints to play up his ‘exotic foreign upbringing’? Reborn would know.

“Oi, Fiorino,” Hayato called out, “Get a gas burner in here so I can make Juudaime’s coffee. And you can get rid of the humidor, none of us smoke.”

*** 

Carelli’s dorm room was getting tight for him, Julia and Rosa. Soon they would have to make a choice; Julia had spread a sheaf of A4 printouts across the single bed. “Miss Kyoko put together a few options for us.”

“They didn’t have to go to all this trouble.” The attention was giving him the willies, to be honest. He deserved to be demoted to cleaning up after the chickens; in any other Famiglia, he’d have had his throat cut. “Any of them appeal to you?”

Julia twisted a strand of hair between her fingers. “I don’t want anything like the old place, for obvious reasons.”

Rosa waved her sock puppet at them. “Sokka doesn’t want to go back. The bad men will find us there.”

“We won’t do that, then,” If they took a flat in Agrigento, he could stay in his current position. Or he could accept a transfer and take his family far away from the notice of the Don and his Guardians.

Julia said, “I think I’d like to get a job. Rosa is almost old enough for school, and …” And she didn’t want to be confined at home. Carelli nodded.

“Did Signora Boccia give you anything for your work last night?”

“Two Euros an hour.” Not much, but it would give Julia some pocket money. “I put a Euro on the pool for how many Guardians Decimo actually has.”

“Oh? What was your guess?”

“Fourteen, for good luck.” Well, she’d never see that Euro again – there was no way any Sky, no matter how strong, could have more than a double set of Guardians.

There was a tap at the door; Carelli opened it and recoiled when he saw Decimo’s deadly Rain Guardian standing there. “Can I help you, Sir?”

“Elisabeta-san asked me to give you this; I helped her and Dad work it out.” He handed Carelli another sheet of paper. “Don’t worry about languages, that comes with the job.” He sauntered away; Carelli blinked, and closed the door.

The paper was another placement offer; the head cook wanted someone to study Japanese cuisine, from the Rain’s sushi-chef father. In Namimori, Primo’s refuge and Decimo’s hometown. He would be trusted to put food on the Don’s table. And his family would be _safe._ “Julia, what do you think of moving to Japan?”

*** 

Lal throws a bottle of aspirin at Iemitsu’s head, totally unsympathetic. “Your hangover is your own damn fault, idiot.”

“Why are you so mean, Lal-chan?” 

Because she has had enough of his bullshit; she’s already training Basil to take over his job. “Don’t call me _chan_!” She follows up the aspirin with a water bottle and nails him in the forehead. “You’re the one who decided to get drunk at your own son’s debut.”

Iemitsu cries crocodile tears. “No one knows how to have a decent conversation these days. Sad!” More like, everyone wanted to talk about Tsuna instead of kissing the idiot’s ass. Lal watched the whole thing through the security cameras and her faith in humanity has been restored.

“Tsuna was the guest of honor, of course the conversation would be about him.”

“I’m his father, shouldn’t that count for something?” Considering Iemitsu didn’t even talk to his son once the whole night, it counts for jack shit.

“If you want to be part of Tsuna’s life, you’ll have to impress him. You’re still on probation, you know.”

Iemitsu perks up, and Lal just knows he’ll take it the wrong way. “Lal-chan, you’re right! I’ll prove that my Tsuna-fishie needs his papa’s help to deal with Mafia life.”

Lal takes out her phone to order a supply of popcorn.

*** 

Xanxus knew he’d found the right tattoo parlor by the stripe of orange tape over its door. He was going to put the same thing on his fucking office. Sure it was fucking Stupid to come all the way to fucking Taiwan for a fucking tattoo, but if this place had ink that could survive Fon’s Flames, it would stand up to Xanxus’s too.

“You take me to the nicest places, darling,” chirped Lussuria.

“It’s a fucking hole in the wall.” Tattoo parlors always were. Xanxus shoved the door open; the artist was fucking around on his phone, and Xanxus flared his Flame to get his attention. He squeaked and jumped to his feet.

“Lord of the Varia!”

“Nice to be fucking recognised.” Xanxus grinned. “Fon says you do Flame-stable tattoos.”

“I do, Sir. I am Li, how may I serve you?”

Xanxus pulled his collar open to show off Tsuna’s bite mark; a bit of Flame fuckery had kept it fresh. “You’re going to ink over this, trash.”

“And no funny business, darling,” added Lussuria. Li looked affronted, and pulled out a tray of ink bottles.

“Which color would you prefer, Sir? And I must warn you that this will sting more than usual.”

“I’ve had worse fucking insect bites.” And would take a lot more for his Sky’s sake. He picked the red ink and tossed it at Li. “Get on with it, trash.”

*** 

Tsuan lounged on the window seat of his office – because he, at sixteen, had an office in a mansion with servants, _how_? – with Hayato’s head in his lap. He combed his fingers through his Storm’s hair. “I like the theme Haru picked for the convenience store project.”

Hayato made a happy noise. “We’ve been collecting suggestions for what to stock; several people asked if you’re going to allow alcohol.”

“Beer and wine should be fine, not the hard stuff though.” And he’d let the staff know that Kyoya did not approve of drunkenness. He scratched Hayato’s ears. His out-box was stacked with thank-you notes for the tributes he had received at the ball, and drafts of several letters lay on the desk. “Sensei says the Gatopardi are trying to find out what happened to Carelli’s family.”

“How do you plan to deal with them, Juudaime?”

“I’ll send a politely worded letter to their Boss … and have it left on his nightstand, while he’s sleeping.” That ought to get his message across. “I wasn’t sure at first, but I think we can feel at home here.”

“Anywhere you are is my home, Cielo mio.” And that went both ways. Tsuna stroked his fingers down the nape of Hayato’s neck, which made him squirm.

_“Kufufufu.”_ Mukuro’s Flame touched his mind. _“You have a visitor, dear Tsuna. One Don Corvino is here to beg an audience with you. Not my wording, he actually said ‘beg.’”_ He sounded greatly amused at such behaviour.

“Don’t wanna move,” was Hayato’s opinion.

“If he’s turned up without an appointment, he can wait until we’re good and ready. This isn’t a McDonald’s. Mukuro, don’t torment him too much until then.”

_“I shall leave some for you, dear Tsuna. Kufufufu.”_

*** 

The owl was staring at him. Corvino wasn’t sure if it was real or a sculpture; he would swear it moved, but only when he wasn’t looking. He held back the urge to check his watch. He expected to be kept waiting, why? Because he was the subordinate in this situation, and should not presume to set the schedule.

“Decimo will see you now.”

He jumped; a girl in gothic dress was standing in the doorway, the Mist Ring visible on her finger. Corvino straightened his tie, gave the motionless owl one last glance, and followed her into the hall.

_“Hoot!”_

If the Vongola were trying to put him off balance, it was working. The Mist Guardian led him to the Don’s office; for a moment, he thought he would be facing Nono instead of Decimo. But no, the young fluffy Sky was perched on the edge of the Don’s desk. There were three trays next to him, labelled _in, out_ and _cat_ ; the latter had two felines curled up in it, grey tabby and chocolate brown. The office decorations had also been changed around, and now was not the time to unpack the implications of that. Corvino bowed. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Decimo.”

“Mmm, I was curious. Especially since you asked to see me and not Timoteo.” He held out his hand, and Corvino kissed his ring. “Coffee?”

“Thank you.” Soon he was holding a cup of the best espresso he had ever tasted, searching for the words to explain himself. Why? Because his purpose was less rational than driven by that bright pure Flame he had witnessed at the ball. “Signore, this may be premature, but I come before you to pledge allegiance. To you, personally, as Don Vongola.”

It was dangerous to go behind Nono’s back like this. But Decimo just smiled crookedly and said, “Not as premature as you might think. Your Famiglia makes its money on herbal supplements and such, right?”

“Yes, signore.” It was less conspicuous than drugs, and civilians would pay astounding amounts for dried parsley when it was made up into pills. “I have copies of our financial records.” He laid the memory card on the desk; one of the cats sniffed at it. He expected this to be more difficult – to be interrogated on his intentions or have his loyalty tested. 

Decimo simply said, “I’m happy to have you, Don Corvino,” and engulfed the room with his Flame. Corvino bowed his head before it. He knew Decimo had held back at the ball; he was grateful to have his dignity spared. No one was watching now but a couple of cats, and he wanted to know.

“Signore, please …”

“If you’re sure.” The Sky dropped on him. He gasped, and crumpled out of his seat to the floor. He had never felt a Flame so powerful, wielded with such precision. Should Decimo choose, he could incinerate him on the spot, and Corvino would have no way to stop him. Yet, Corvino was not afraid. Two breaths, three – then the weight lifted as Decimo pulled his Flame in. Small wonder, that he preferred to keep it hidden – Corvino’s eyes went wide. It seemed impossible. But, the head of the Yunque had been a guest at the inheritance ball …

Decimo giggled. “Your face says you’ve come to a realisation, Don Corvino. What are you going to do with it?” He looked up, and gulped; Decimo’s eyes were still glowing amber.

“I shall remain silent until you command otherwise, Decimo.” Only a complete idiot would cross this man after seeing his full power.

:I’m sure you will. And keep an eye out for opportunities in Chinese medicines.”

“Thank you, Signore.”

*** 

“Was this a crater before the Clouds decided to play?” Kyoko stared at the ruined pit in the middle of the Iron Fort’s gardens. Hana must have been really annoyed.

“Actually, yes,” said Brow Nie. “This is the quarry where the stone for the buildings came from. Come on, let’s see if there’s anything worth saving.” He bounded from ledge to ledge down the quarry wall, and Kyoko followed him. A few mature trees were still standing, some with branches broken off, but a bit of Sun soon put them right. “This area was already neglected before,” Brow Nie said as they gathered up dead brush. “We’ve had trouble keeping up with everything, and, well, I guess it’s up to your generation now what to do with it.”

Kyoko looked around her. The quarry was broad and shallow, and its stone walls sheltered it from the hot Mediterranean winds. “How about a hedge maze? That could be fun.” Just like their obstacle courses. And Hibari could have a treehouse, and maybe a tea pavilion. Kyoko bounced on her toes.

“And your Mists would construct a Minotaur to patrol it?” suggested Brow Nie.

“Better than that – see, Tsuna-sama has his eye on this pet rock …”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoot! ^^
> 
> Here we are at the conclusion of another installment. Two more to go, and the draft for part 11 is almost done - that one will feature Iemitsu's comeuppance, for those of you who are looking forward to that. I'm taking a break next week, and then posting some assorted fic through January and February.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading and commenting! I hope this fic provided some relief in this Year of the Dumpster Fire ^^ Merry Christmas if that's your jam, and happy holidays!


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